


Misunderstanding

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, Floor Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: No matter how many times Castiel heals his physical wounds, Dean always feels scraped raw afterward, like someone took a melon baller to his ribs and stitched him up with twine. Sure, he can’t feel the aftermath, but it’s there, hidden behind scars and tucked away in his memories.It shouldn’t piss him off, how often Castiel tends to his wounds, but it does. Not solely because of that, but because he always leaves the minute he finishes. Like Dean is just a chore to him, a task he needs to see completed before he can flit off to his heavenly duties. Such duties, Dean doesn’t even entertain anymore, considering Heaven’s determination to see Castiel dead in the first place.Whatever the reason is today, Castiel isn’t here, and Dean wants to knock his teeth out.





	Misunderstanding

No matter how many times Castiel heals his physical wounds, Dean always feels scraped raw afterward, like someone took a melon baller to his ribs and stitched him up with twine. Sure, he can’t feel the aftermath, but it’s there, hidden behind scars and tucked away in his memories.

It shouldn’t piss him off, how often Castiel tends to his wounds, but it does. Not solely because of that, but because he always leaves the minute he finishes. Like Dean is just a chore to him, a task he needs to see completed before he can flit off to his heavenly duties. Such duties, Dean doesn’t even entertain anymore, considering Heaven’s determination to see Castiel dead in the first place.

Whatever the reason is today, Castiel isn’t here, and Dean wants to knock his teeth out. Sam left about an hour ago, supposedly holing up at the library for more ‘research,’ or whatever he’s calling it these days. More often than not, Dean suspects some days, Sam just doesn’t want to see him, or deal with whatever his issue is with Castiel. Issue being, Castiel left right when Dean needed him the most. Not to touch him or to even console him—ghosts have thrown him into steel girders harder than this demon did—but just to sit there in silence, to listen if Dean had something to say.

Now, Dean just sits at the foot of the bed and wrings his hands, fighting to keep his breath steady, to keep from punching the television, or the wall. Controlling his anger has never been one of his strong suits, especially now.

For a long, quiet half hour, Dean sits there and listens to his own breathing, to the cars rumbling past on the interstate, to his neighbors coming and going. Late afternoon light blocked by the curtains, he blinks at the walls in the dark, jaw tensing to the point of pain.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Dean says aloud, pointedly directing everything towards Castiel. Whether or not Castiel can hear him, he doesn’t show up. Lowering his voice, he continues, “I told you to stay, I told you to… Are we not important to you anymore? Because it sure as shit seemed like it for a while. What, we’re just gonna get hot ‘n heavy chasing down Lucifer, and you’re gonna fuck off to do what? Find God?” He laughs, grinding his knuckles. “God ain’t here, and if he was, he wouldn’t give a damn.”

“I disagree,” Castiel says from the corner—Dean launches off the bed, backing into the television in his haste.

There, hidden in the dark with only the light from the single slit in the curtains to illuminate the room, Castiel looks just as he did when he left two hours ago: disinterested, hands in his pockets and wings practically itching to fly off once again. At least, Dean imagines so; not like Castiel would ever show them off to a human, anyway. Especially one so…

“You—” Dean starts, then laughs, palming his face. “You really got some fuckin’ nerve, showing up here after you… You can’t just leave like that, man.”

Castiel cocks his head to the side, but otherwise remains still. Observant, if Dean wanted to put a word to it. “I was under the impression you needed space,” he says, slow, and takes a step forward, encroaching on Dean’s space, even at a distance. The space he wants to fill, but can’t bear to share.

Gripping the edges of the aging dresser, Dean watches Castiel venture nearer, breath quickening. “Where’d you get that idea?” he deflects, knuckles white.

Castiel stops, letting out a breath that sounds more like a growl than a sigh. “Because you’re never grateful. I’ve healed many men, Dean, and they’ve all shown some form of gratitude, but you… You push me away.” Again, he steps forward; Dean wishes the dresser would break open and swallow him whole. “You don’t think you deserve this, do you?”

“Shit no,” Dean says. “I mean, have you met me? I’m the least deserving person on the planet, but that don’t mean you need to fuck off to God knows where every time you get the urge.”

“I’m trying to find God,” Castiel hisses. Rather than his increasingly slow approach, Castiel crowds him against the dresser, loafers bumping Dean’s bare feet. “More importantly, I’m trying to survive, without taking any innocent lives in the process. The angels have a price on my head, and you’re expecting me to drop what I’m doing and stay here?”

“Yes,” Dean says, nearing a shout. Without thinking, he shoves Castiel by the shoulder, forcing him back a step. “Yes, I expect you to halfway give a damn, because this isn’t all on me, Cas. This is on you, and Sam, and every damn one of us for letting this happen, and we’re supposed to fix it. We’re supposed to put Lucifer in the ground, and we can’t do that without you.” Another shove; Castiel’s brow furrows, eyes narrowing. “Heaven doesn’t need you, Cas, and God doesn’t give a shit.”

“I’m only doing what you asked,” Castiel rebuts and catches Dean’s wrist, sinking his nails in. “You claim you have no faith, but you’re groveling.”

“Because I fucking need you here.” Violently, Dean rips his arm out of Castiel’s grasp and spins him into the dresser, jostling the cheap plastic lamp into a freefall. “I need you,” he reiterates, heart pounding in his chest and rising up into his throat. “Didn’t you ever learn to look past the bullshit? Half the shit I say, I don’t mean, but can you blame me? After all the shit I’ve been through, you really expect me to have a rational thought in my head?”

Castiel looks him over, like he’s actually assessing that. “If you want something, then why haven’t you ever told me?”

Jaw clenched, Dean barely—just barely—manages to keep his hands to himself. “I just fucking told you,” he says. He can feel himself shaking, can feel a headache blossoming behind his eyes. “I just—I can’t. Look at me, I’m…” Feebly, he grapples with Castiel’s shoulder, tugging his coat. “I need you here, alright? No more flying off to God knows where, no more…” He stops, collects himself. _Don’t get fucking sappy now_.

A barely-there smirk upticks Castiel’s lips, one so small that if Dean weren’t so close, he might miss it. “You think you can control an angel,” he says, low and doing all sorts of things Dean doesn’t want to think about. Impossibly, he breaches Dean’s space even further, breath hot against Dean’s lips. “I’m not your servant, Dean. I don’t go around doing your bidding. You were the one that taught me to do what I felt was right, and I’m doing that—”

“By leaving.” Another shove. This time, Castiel growls, every bit a threat. “All you ever do is leave, and you expect me to be okay with that? I need you here, Cas, and if you can’t understand that—”

Dean barely registers that the room has shifted before Castiel shoves him bodily against the wall, a forearm pinning him by the chest. His heart skips, pounding painfully against his ribs; all Dean can do is gasp and wrestle with Castiel’s arm. Just a reminder, to stay in his place, to stop messing with angels—

The forearm leaves, only to be replaced by a hand; Castiel holds him by the throat, nowhere near enough pressure to knock him out. Still, Dean’s heart races. The rest of his blood diverts dangerously south, and shame heats his cheeks, even deeper under Castiel’s increasing scrutiny.

“You misunderstand my intentions,” Castiel rumbles, leaning in. Dean swallows, and Castiel follows the motion, eyelids drooping. “You’re under the impression that because I leave, that I don't care.”

“Because you don’t,” Dean ways, voice wavering. Castiel’s hand slips, a single fingertip slipping down Dean’s front. Slow, _teasing_. “You don’t… Since when do you care?”

“I’ve always cared.” Stopping, Castiel takes Dean’s waistband in hand and tugs, dragging Dean forward; Dean catches himself, a hand pressed square to Castiel’s chest. _Broad_, he thinks, followed by, _too close_. “But you’ve been so lost in your own head, you haven’t been able to see it. Do you think I would’ve done everything I did, if I didn’t care for you even in the slightest bit? I’ve bled for you, Dean, I’ve died for you, and you doubt me?”

Dean grits his teeth, tilting his chin just a bit higher. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says, steady enough that for a split second, he actually believes he might be in control. Castiel shatters that though, shoving Dean back into the wall and forcing their bodies together. Involuntarily, he gasps, and Castiel fucking _grins_. “You bastard—”

“So you’ve told me,” Castiel says. Dean’s heart skips the moment Castiel presses a kiss to his throat, open-mouthed and absolutely terrifying. Desperately, he clings to Castiel’s coat, breath caught in his throat while Castiel lavishes him with his tongue, sucking wet trails up his neck, to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth.

The moment their lips touch, Dean’s brain decides to pack up and leave for an extended vacation in Florida. The rest of his body acts on its own accord, and he fights with Castiel’s lapels, holding him as close as possible while they kiss. Filthy, with more tongue and teeth than anything else, but still a kiss, with just enough of an edge to make it real. Castiel tugs at his t-shirt and eventually wrenches it over Dean’s head, afterward scratching his nails down Dean’s back. Dean hisses and nips Castiel’s lower lip, soothing it with a kiss.

Only then does it truly dawn on him just what this is—Castiel is kissing him, defiling his mouth like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, and Dean is giving in, entirely without a fight. “You played me,” he says before seizing Castiel’s hips, crushing the hard line of his cock against Castiel’s. Castiel kisses him for his trouble, his breath scalding when he pulls back to breathe_. Since when do angels need to breathe_? “What’re you tryin’ to pull—”

“You should really stop talking,” Castiel growls before taking Dean by the chin and dragging him in.

This time, Dean doesn’t fight back—not immediately, anyway, not until Castiel pulls away. Dean grabs him by the coat and helps him shrug out of it, eventually freeing Castiel of the material with only a few bruises to mention. The jacket fares better, and Dean kisses his throat once it’s gone, now concentrating on his button-down. “Still pissed at you,” he says, yanking the fabric open, and sending buttons bouncing across the carpet. Castiel just kisses him harder, slamming Dean into the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. “Fuck—”

“Again,” Castiel says, reaching for Dean’s zipper. “Stop. Talking.”

Dean just grins, bright eyes and all. “Make me.”

Castiel moves before Dean can fully keep track. Hand in Dean’s hair, Castiel forces him to his knees and holds him there; he fumbles with his belt buckle, and Dean’s mouth waters on instinct, a shameful response he’s never been able to shake. But he loves it, especially when Castiel undoes his zipper and pushes his boxers down, freeing his hard cock. As much as Dean wants it, Castiel refuses to let him move, instead stroking himself.

“You don't deserve this,” Castiel says, tugging Dean’s hair even tighter. Dean lets out a groan, knees straining, toes curled to the point of pain. “After all, what have you given me in return?”

Wincing, Dean looks up at Castiel, and thinks. Thinks as far back as he can, to the scant number of things he can remember giving Castiel, until something clicks. “Family,” he says, locking eyes with Castiel. “The family you’ve never had, the one you never knew you wanted.” He shifts his weight and watches Castiel’s posture soften. “And that’s something you can’t run away from.”

Castiel loosens his grip, only to tighten his hold on the back of Dean’s head, tilting him up. “I wasn’t running from you,” he says, and gives himself one more loose stroke before shoving his cock into Dean’s waiting mouth.

After that, Dean ignores whatever Castiel has to say and focuses on the task at hand—or mouth, rather. Castiel barely gives him any time to breathe before he thrusts his cock in, chasing his own pleasure while Dean just hangs on. Clinging to the backs of Castiel’s thighs, Dean relaxes—or tries to—and watches Castiel, despite the ache in his jaw and the saliva dripping down his chin. Castiel doesn’t talk, not like Dean expected, but he moans, eyelids fluttering when he pushes into Dean’s throat.

With all of his willpower, Dean fights off the urge to gag, even as Castiel grows rougher, cock thickening in his mouth. Tears spill from the corners of Dean’s eyes, not from sadness, but from exertion and his own ignored arousal; his cock aches in his jeans, and Dean has the sneaking suspicion that if he tried to get off, Castiel might slap him, or step on his cock, or—

_Shit_, he thinks, letting out a whine. Castiel tugs him forward with both hands, and before Dean can even prepare himself, Castiel comes, his spend filling Dean’s mouth and spilling free, leaving him with a sticky mess when Castiel pulls out seconds later. Dean manages to swallow what he can without choking, all while Castiel strokes through his hair, easing the sting in his scalp. A short reprieve, Dean thinks as he wipes his eyes dry, cleaning the spit and come from his chin.

Something about this hurts—not physically, but deep in his chest. The manhandling, he can deal with—being treated with kindness is another game entirely, one he doesn’t know if he can handle for any longer. “Have you had enough?” Castiel asks, pressing his thumb to the seam of Dean’s lips.

Eyes still prickling, Dean shakes his head and kisses the tip of Castiel’s thumb. Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t let the moment linger, and simply shoves Dean to the floor instead, chest pinned and back arched. “I didn’t think so,” Castiel says, rough. He teases Dean’s cleft through his jeans, then spanks him, abrupt and sharp enough to make Dean groan. “You’re a man of honor, Dean, always striving to follow whatever orders you’re given, but you can’t ever let yourself give in, can you? You’re so beautiful when you kneel, you should see your face.”

“No thanks,” Dean muffles into the carpet. Castiel spanks him again, and Dean grins through the sting. “More interested in seeing yours.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Too bad, then,” he says, and undoes Dean’s zipper with one hand. “Because you’ve lost that privilege.”

There are other positions Castiel could’ve taken Dean’s pants off in, ones that didn’t involve Dean having to kick off his clothes with the grace of a drunken swan. Somehow, they manage the feat, and Castiel crowds in close, pressing the thick head of his cock into Dean’s rim. Not to slip inside, but a warning of what’s to come. Fear sours Dean’s gut regardless, and he sucks in a breath, half-expecting Castiel to just fuck him right there.

Instead, Castiel pulls away and _leaves_ him. He kicks off his shoes and his slacks on his way to Dean’s duffel, eventually surfacing with the lube Dean keeps in the side pocket. Despite his best instincts, Dean waits on the floor, shamefully eager for Castiel’s touch, for the warmth he’s come to crave. Castiel rewards him with a kiss to the shoulder, lingering for a second too long before straddling Dean’s legs.

“I could punish you for your insolence,” Castiel says the second he touches Dean with a warm, wet finger, teasing his rim. Dean lets out a breath, and his cock twitches between his legs, furiously leaking a wet spot into the musty carpet. “But you’d like that too much, wouldn't you? You thrive on punishment, because you think it’s what you deserve.” Castiel sinks a finger in; moaning, Dean shifts enough to take him fully, body trembling with desire. “That’s not what you want, is it?”

“Shut up,” Dean manages, fisting the carpet. Guilt sits heavy in his chest, threatening to soften his erection, but Castiel keeps him interested with another finger, steadily working him open with the utmost ease. “Shut up, don’t…”

Castiel skirts a hand up Dean’s spine, before covering his shoulder, the brand flaring to life under his fingertips. He curls his fingers up and _in_, and Dean feels lit up from the inside, like Castiel is cradling him down to his soul. “If you don’t want kindness out of this, then I won’t give it to you.” Pulling his fingers free, Castiel wets them again before shoving three inside, earning a contented sigh from Dean. “But if you want something else, all you have to do is ask.”

A shiver rips up Dean’s spine, and not from Castiel’s insistent touch. Hiding his face in his arms, he mumbles, “Don’t make me say it.”

Castiel considers him for a moment before twisting his fingers just so; Dean’s legs nearly get out from the sensation, coupled with the hand working his cock in a rough grip. Involuntarily, he bucks into Castiel’s grip and bites back a shout. “If that’s what you want,” he says, “then have it your way.”

Dean moans with the loss of Castiel’s touch, the emptiness left behind by his fingers even worse than the guilt attempting to seep in. Leaning up, he looks over his shoulder to find Castiel stroking himself, admiring Dean from afar. “Dude, come on,” he huffs, and wiggles his ass for good measure. “If you’re gonna beat it right there, then I’m out.”

“I’m debating whether you’ve earned it,” Castiel hums. He reaches for the lube and douses his fingers, continuing his torturously slow strokes; Dean’s mouth waters just watching him, a sudden heat burning in his stomach. Desire, probably—Lust, definitely. “I’m not sure you have, but I’m tired of waiting.”

And Castiel flips him over with little effort, situating himself between Dean’s spread legs. For a second, Dean just breathes, swallowing down the adrenaline threatening to surge just from watching Castiel surge closer, hiking Dean’s hips up into his lap. The carpet scratches at the reddened marks lining his back, but he ignores it in favor of concentrating on Castiel and the feel of his cock seeking entrance, only to feel him shove in with one smooth glide.

Shameless, Dean moans probably louder than necessary, and belatedly hopes the neighbors next door don’t call the police. Castiel doesn’t waste any time, and despite the brief sting, Dean just holds on, clinging to Castiel’s shoulders while Castiel thrusts, at first shallow, but then deepening into a slow, taunting grind. “_Fuck_,” Dean pants and throws his head back, burying one hand in the worn carpet for leverage. He shifts with Castiel’s every move, irritating the marks Castiel left behind, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Because this is what he _wants_—has always wanted since the moment Castiel waltzed into his life, and Castiel apparently intends to make up for lost time. His every nerve fires when Castiel drags him into a kiss, merely just a mesh of open mouths and heated breath, but a kiss is a kiss, and Dean savors it. “Do you refuse me?” Castiel asks, a hand to Dean’s hip, the other buried in his hair. “Do you refuse everything I’ve done?”

“Hell no,” Dean moans. His cock spasms when Castiel pulls his hair, precome spilling wetly onto his belly and into his fist. Praising, Castiel kisses him once more and pulls away to suck at the spot beneath his ear. Eyes rolling back, Dean strokes himself faster, acutely aware of the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet glide of their bodies together, their increasingly labored breathing.

All too suddenly, Castiel sits up and pulls out of Dean’s grasp, only to brace himself on Dean’s chest, palmed pressed square to his pecs. Dean grabs hold of his wrist, then covers Castiel’s hand with his own, tangling their fingers together. “C’mon,” Dean says, closer to a beg than he’d like to admit. Tilting his hips up, he bites his lip, reveling in the sound Castiel makes just from getting that much closer, _deeper_. “C’mon, c’mon, _Cas_—”

Lightly, with just the barest edge of pressure, Castiel covers Dean’s throat—Dean comes before he can stop himself, body tense and held down by Castiel’s weight, to the point of claustrophobia. Long after Castiel wrings the last of his orgasm from him, Dean writhes, clawing at whatever skin he can reach: Castiel’s arms, his shoulders, his chest, all of it leaving reddened lines behind. And Castiel keeps going, practically bending Dean in half by the time he comes with a feral growl, eyelids pinched shut. The lamplight flickers and dies with a pop, bathing the room in darkness—and even then, Dean spots the shadow of wings looming over them, massive and bleeding warmth, only to fade out moments after.

Castiel pulls out all too soon, his absence souring whatever afterglow Dean had been working up to; now, he lies on the floor and watches Castiel wander into the bathroom, all while a chill rushes through his veins. He blinks, palming his eyes until he sees stars. _Don’t overthink this_, he tells himself, ignoring the come and sweat mingling between his legs. _You started this, and he finished it. It doesn’t mean anything_.

_But it does_.

“Stand up,” Castiel orders.

Dean’s stomach flips. “No, no,” he pleads, fighting when Castiel touches his shoulder. “No, I can’t—”

“Dean.” The softness in his tone breaks Dean even further, along with the lips gracing his throat. “Come to bed with me. I’m not asking for anything else.”

Reluctantly, Dean complies, eyes still shut when Castiel leads him off the floor and onto the mattress. Only after Castiel covers both of their heads with the blankets does he open them, still afraid to face Castiel even in the dark. Gently, warm fingers caress Dean’s cheek, wiping away the stray wetness in the crease of his eye. “Did you like that?” Castiel asks, to Dean’s quiet nod. “Then why are you ashamed?”

“How much time you got?” Dean asks, then clears his throat. “Look, I’m… I’m not gonna deny it, okay? But I’m just… I can’t ask you for this, man. I can’t ask you to stay, because I’ve asked you for everything else, and—”

“You’re misunderstanding why I’m here.” Reaching up from under the sheets, Castiel retrieves his abandoned washrag and wipes down Dean’s inner thighs, all while Dean hisses, the strain of keeping his legs open all too much. “I’m not limited to who I interact with. I could go anywhere, do anything I wanted, but I always come back here. Do you know why?”

“Poor decision making?” Dean asks, his heart not in it to laugh. “If you’re gonna say something corny like you love me—”

“So what if I do?”

Dean’s heart stops with just the thought. An angel loves him—Castiel loves him, in particular. Tossing the washrag away, Castiel sidles closer, tucking a leg between Dean’s own. Dean curls in closer, snaking an arm around Castiel’s waist and ducking his head under Castiel’s chin. “You shouldn’t,” he concedes, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna get you killed.”

“You won’t,” Castiel sighs. He strokes down Dean’s spine, easing the tension in his muscles. “I won’t apologize for leaving, but I’ll… For now on, I’ll tell you before I plan to go. I’m trying to stop this, Dean, I’m doing what I can to save you.”

Faintly, Dean nods. “I know,” he breathes, and hates that it’s the truth. “Can you at least stay the night? Kinda… really need you here right now.”

To that, Castiel nods and holds Dean closer, close enough for Dean to feel his heartbeat. “Sleep,” he whispers, kissing Dean’s forehead. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, if you want.”

The morning—sincerely, Dean hopes Castiel will stick to his promise. “Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I lied about trying to write a book again WHOOPS. Apparently y'all are gonna get shameless smut for the rest of forever!! Anywho, my brain apparently wanted angsty S5 porn so here you go! :D
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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